


A Slow Prelude Plays, Your Hands in Mine

by Hokkaido_Pumpkin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hokkaido_Pumpkin/pseuds/Hokkaido_Pumpkin
Summary: Nearly a decade after an incident at The Conservatory of St. James, former student and esteemed orchestral director Professor A.R Crowley returns for reasons unknown.Former prodigy 'Azi' Fell has never left. Abandoning the bright path ahead of him after the incident, he became the head professor of History of Music, and an esteemed name in the underworld of music.Both know that they have caused for each other to go the paths they did, and they'll have to cope with it when they need to leave the past behind them.----------Or, a professor AU where Aziraphale and Crowley will work together to make it work, and put their best feet forwards.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	1. The Serpent Returns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Just_Rocket_Science](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Rocket_Science/gifts).



> Hello, fellow travelers! 
> 
> This is a short series to explore and come up with a story line for an AU I came up with the marvelous Just_Rocket_Science! I'm making up this as I go, so get ready for some plot!
> 
> If I end up putting this into a full-fledged story, I promise the pining won't go on for 6,000 years, maybe a bit faster (hehe) 
> 
> I will end up referencing some musical things here and there later on, but for now hang on tight for some exposition!

He had never intended to be back here so soon after that, but fate had always thrown him a lot to handle.

The Conservatory of St. James, also known as The Park, was a well known conservatory north of London specializing in classical music. Although its name had always been upheld in esteem, the incidents of a while back had still not disappeared from the rumors which lurked in the shadows. But that's not the story right now, as after six years of travel, St. James' most infamous student was back. As a professor.

Anthony R. Crowley, since his last time at St. James, had grown quite a lot more confident,snappy, and upwards (but sadly not as outwards as he should've) from the shy student he was. He had become one of the most sought after conductors, known for a tough regime, but also for having a soft spot for anyone who would care to ask for help. He spent years traveling across Europe, and had picked up many acquaintances along the way. No one could understand why he had chosen to leave out of nowhere and settle into the position of Professor in a conservatory in the middle of England.

Plopping down his bags at the entrance, Crowley took a moment to look around. The building never did actually change, it was always the same thing since the 19th century, but it had always felt different to him every time he gazed upon it. The old statue was still standing in the middle of the courtyard, and the stone on the building seemed to have some more moss on it than last time. A long time ago, the sight of this place struck fear in Crowley, but this time he felt something different. Something he couldn't name.

He'd have to get back to that later. The sound of various cars honking at the Bentley parked in the middle of the road was distracting him (never good at parking, Crowley was). After one honk manages to shoot him up nearly half a meter into the air, Crowley rushed back to the road. 'Nothing bad should happen to my Bentley on its first day back!' he had thought.

Quickly shoving the last of his things into the backseats hastily, Crowley drives to the other part of the conservatory, where the dormitories for both the students and teachers are. Crowley was about to open the door, but he froze. the wave of panic flowing trough him, the sheer fear rushing at the sight of the building was unbearable. Only a few words were rushing trough Crowley's mind at that moment...

_You idiot! Why do you even have that name? You're a disgrace! Get out of my sight R-_

Crowley snaps out of his mind quickly enough to hear the crashing and clattering of various objects. He looks across the lot to see people arguing. Students. Crowley reached to open the door again, this time managing to get out of the car safely and soundly.

_I'm a professor now. Nothing will happen to anyone under my watch. Just go sort out those rascal's luggage, and be on your way_


	2. A Tuba Is More Deadly Than You May Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley meets an unfortunate fate (?). 
> 
> Things will be stirring in the backstory pot. Two students with a knack for bickering meet their odd new professor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, this fic has gone a bit more on the expositional slow style, but hang on dear travelers, as it will go on slowly but surely! 
> 
> I'm not that familiar with writing dialouge, so I went mainly for the occasional throwaway refernce and humour. 
> 
> Have a great day :D 
> 
> (P.S, I'm not sure how the wirting process for this will be made. So try not to be concerned by the erratic post timeline)

"Look! I said I'm sorry, I didn't realize that was your stuff"

"Well it is my stuff! Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't play the tuba"

Crowley closes in twoards the two figures arguing. There was a boy with curly brown hair in a battered band shirt trying to apologize to a stern looking girl in a college hoodie hissing at him while holding a large case which held the tuba in question. 

"I just didn't think that this tuba-"

"Would belong to a girl? Well it does! What did you think I played? The flute?"

"Yeah, I actually did"

At that moment, the girl's eyes set alight, and Crowley realized what was going to happen. He quickly gets in front of the boy, and gets greeted with a very heavy box flying at him. The last thoughts that passed in his mind was 'Getting crushed by a tuba really wasn't how I tought I'd go'

To his divine luck, Crowley did not end up going this way. He just ended up lying down in a school parking lot looking quite dazed. 

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"

"I think he's knocked out. You can't see anything beneath those glasses he's wearing"

"Maybe we should call an ambulance. Oh how I regret throwing my tuba."

"If I was hit with it you probably wouldn't be regretting it so much"

Crowley begrudgingly opens his eyes to see the girl glaring at the boy after his, frankly humorous, comment. He sits up and looks at the two students. He was back in The Park alright. 

"I'm alright. No need to call an ambulance. I applaud your efforts in trying to lighten your workload first thing in the semester, but unfortunately for you I won't go down that easily."

The girl seems to pale at that remark. "My first day here and I assaulted a professor? There goes my diploma"

"Don't worry. Your diploma isn't going anywhere as quick as your tuba case just went. What's your name, Tuba Girl?"

"Pepper Moonchild. Please don't refer to me by my last name though." 

"Anthony Crowley. Pleasure to meet you."

The two shake hands as they hear another clattering sound rise. The boy had toppled over yet another pile of boxes. He grins sheepishly. 

"I think I should get going before I start boxmageddon here." Pepper runs out and and grabs the escaping boy from the neck of his tshirt, pulling him back. 

"Adam Young, you will not leave until you fix those boxes unless the world ends, and we both know it isn't ending any time soon"

Crowley grins to himself, looking at the two bicker back and forth. Musicians are always a handful, students or not. 

"I think you've gotten the hang of things here Pepper. I'll leave Mr. Boxmageddon-Young to you."

"Yes Professor Crowley. He won't be leving anytime soon." Adam and Pepper proceed to glare at each other after that comment, the former reluctantly starting to bend over and grab one of the fallen over boxes. The two remind Crowley a lot of himself and another particular student from a long time ago. He remembered standing at the same lot, trying to support as many boxes as his lanky form could before toppling it all over while another student looked at his tower with concern. The faint mirroring of that occasion had brung a fleeting felling of hapiness into him. It was amazing back then, before it all went to hell. Stopping from his walk back to the Bentley, he calls out to Pepper. 

"Tuba Girl?"

"Yes Professor?"

"Y'know, back when I was a student, I used to specialise in the flute as my main insturment. So keep your hopes up. The flute isn't as girly as you think it is."

With that, Crowley starts unloading his boxes and luggage out of the Bentley, remembering the memories that were taken from him the last time he was here. 

When the red haired man sauntered away, Adam couldn't keep his curiosity to himself. 

"Was that actually Mr. Crowley? The famous orchestra director?"

"Yeah it was. I still can't believe I threw my tuba at him."

"Extremely reckless of you indeed."

"Oh shut it Adam!"

"Why do you think he came here though?"

"No one is said to know but I have an idea. Do you remember the rumoured 'falling' that occured years ago?"

"Yeah I do. Even though no one is supposed to talk about it anymore, everyone knows about it. But why is it relevant here?"

"It's not a commonly mentioned fact, but Prof. Crowley was one of the 'martyrs' of the incident."

"Alongside Profes-"

"Yeah. Alongside him." 

"He doesn't seem like the type though."

"You don't really see those kinds of things from the ouside though" Pepper mused as the two watched the slender figure in dark glasses chatter about happily at his car, a pile of textbooks in hand. The gears inside the two student's minds started moving. If this man really was the so called 'martyr of the falling', why had he decided to come back to the place where such terrible things had happened to him? what kind of things did he have planned here? 

All of them knew that this year would be an eventful one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gender association of insturments is actually a researched topic which is put in vaious studies! It's quite interesting to read about these associations, and how it changes by age. Here is one of the papers I refernced in the making of this chapther! 
> 
> https://www.researchgate.net/publication/302515980_How_Masculine_Is_a_Flute_A_Replication_Study_on_Gender_Stereotypes_and_Preferences_for_Musical_Instruments_among_Young_Children


	3. A Harmony Of Two Souls , Or Going Up The Stairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stairs are more villainous than you think, my dear. And harmonies aren't always aware that they work. After all, ther is a lot of work in the background making sure their rythms match. 
> 
> Just a matter of time.
> 
> (Trying out some humour alongside dialouge, so hope it makes an improvement!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi fellow travellers! Below is a small explanation; 
> 
> The structure of St. James will be based of university more than an actual conservatory, because things work more differently there and a few important plot points in this fic are more plausible under a system similar to universities. 
> 
> Hope this will make it all clearer! :D

Treading up the worn stairs, Crowley tried not to drop the box in his hand, or any other littered around for that matter. His legs were still aching from the tuba girl incident, but he had to move evrything up tonight. If only he hadn't spent so many extra days slowly sauntering trough Scotland in his Bentley on his way here. (He actually didn't regret doing that, as the Bentley seemed to have her own will, and if her will was to saunter trough Scotland then Crowley would comply.) As Crowley takes a moment to take a breath at the end of the second floor, another goes back to work. 

_Putting his cup of tea down (Chamomile, with only a small amount of milk) , he looks back at the tattered notebook before him. Putton on cream-colured gloves he looks trough the notebook. Some of the pages seem to be in decent condition, while others appear to be torn or at least worn by the tides of time. He mutters under his breath, and stops flipping trough the notebook, a torn page in front of him. He opens the lamp on his table, one that looks as if it's ment for such restoration, and slowly starts resotring the page._

Crowley was still on his pilgrimage. The dormitory building was large, housing both students and teachers who decided to stay in the school's lodgings. The building wasn't very old, but it still managed to feel sated like many such places do. Back when Crowley was a student here, people were actually trying to convince the school board to rennovate the building to make it look more 'hip' (that was actually what the students said, but then again Hastur wasn't the best with words), but looking at the hallways now, it seemed that their campaigning wasn't convincing enough because the place never really changed. Altough the building was only four floors, five including the two rooms in the roof, it was collosal (and a pain to navigate thought Crowley not for the first time). Finally mustering up enough courage, Crowley starts hauling his stuff yet another floor.

_He manages to fix the tears in the page, but some of the notes are smudged beyond recognition. No one would ever know the original note there, and it would take an expert to weigh the options and write in the best fit. That is why he was the one his client came to, altough it also might have been due to the client's nature in the fist place. Delicate, scarred hands picked up the notebook, and he moves across the room twoards an upright piano standing against a wall. He opens the piano, places the notebook on the stand, and gazes outside from the window. For a moment, he gets lost in something he had not felt in a long time._

After reaching the third floor, Crowley (gently) drops the boxes he was holding onto the floor with a **thwump.** At first, he was excited on being assigned to one of the roof rooms, but it was quickly turning into a nuisance. Being here made an odd feeling pass trough him. This place was the happiest he'd ever been in his life, but it also harbored so much pain that it made him hurt. The two feelings was churning into a mess inside Crowley. The nostalgia had overflowed him, standing at the same third floor at the dawn of his second year, clutching his flute, promising himself that he's be a candidate for first chair by the end of the year, how it all went to hell after the second semester and that devil-

_He used to be famous, if you could have said that. His skill was known by many even before he had came here. He probably would have become a world-renowned pianist if fate hadn't interwined. He could still play as well, probably even better, than before but no one really paid attention anymore. If they did, things would still be the way it was originally indented to be. Those who knew his hidden talents were his most valued confidants. He was a mild mannered historian and disgraced pianist to polite society, but to his clients he was a formidable foe, "The Principality". None of this mattered to him though. He just wanted to do what he wants to do. He shuts the window, and goes back to his desk, returning to restore a few pages before filling in the final note._

Crowley had been standing at near the staircase from the second floor fo so long that Anathema decided to act on it. How do you already know her name, you ask? One does not simply ask for Anathema Device's name, for they would know when they gazed upon her. She dragged her friend with her, a rather unlucky looking lad with wire glasses and a blue knit sweater. Looking up, Crowley sees the spectacle that is Anathema pulling her friend twoards him.

'Hey Book Girl, why are you dragging that lad down the hall? I think you can carry him, by the look of the book you're carrying.' (This was one of Anthony R. Crowley's many attempts at humour, which has been said to be odder than someone suggesting atoms were actually miniature plum pudding)

The boy suddenly escapes Anathema's grip as the girl looked at Crowley in suprise. The two are now in front of him. The girl speaks up. 

'It looked like you were drifting into another reality, standing there. You know, fae can drag you to other worlds and trap you there, so be careful.'

'Anathema, I don't think anyone, fae or otherwise would try to take a fully grown man wearing sunglasses indoors to another dimension.'

'Newton, don't think that wearing sunglasses indoors can help one escape the wiles of the fae. Or can it?' 

At this point, Crowley gets a feeling that he should butt in, or else he might be studk ther listening about fae for the rest of the night.

'Y'know, I do think that the wiles of fae are an interesting topic, but it's not really the right one now. Do you need my help?'

'Nope. I actually don't know why I'm here, I'll just go-' Anathema grabs the arm of the boy's sweater and holds him back.

'Can't you at least introduce yourself to the drifer, Newt?'

'Uh uh. Yeah yeah sure. I'm Newton Pulsifer, third year student.'

'And you already know my name. Nice to meet you....'

(Crowley wasn't sure how he knew her name, but it was Anathema Device. Was she a psychic?, He thought.)

'Mr. Crowley. Former student, new orchestra director and teacher. Nice to meet you. And thanks fro saving me from a fae kidnapping.'

'Anytime Mr. Crowley. Say, are you the one moving all the way up?'

'Yep, and it's an absolute pain hauling all this stuff (he gestures at his stuff, now an inexplicably placed in the shape of a throne. Don't worry it does that.)'

'Why don't Newt and I help you carry these stuff up?'

'That would be great. Thank you.'

The three now stare at the throne of boxes, dissassembling it as they headed up to the fourth floor.

_Trough what could only be described as a miracle, he was done patching up the notebook. Covers, pages and all.He takes off his gloves, pours himself another cup of tea (altough it was slightly cold now, it was still quite good) and read a book at his desk as he drank it (the book was a manuscript of an older book, one of his first aquisition trough his business). Once he had finished his cup, he stood up with the notebook and headed twoards the piano once again. This time, he did not get distracted by looking out the window, and sat down infront of the piano, adjusting his seat before he started playing. He opens to the first page, and starts._

After nearly half an hour of combined efforts, the three finally stood at the top floor, where Crowley's new room would be. Going down the stairs with Newt, Anathema yells 'Hope you get along with Doctor Fell!'. Crowley freezes. He hadn't heard that name in a long time. He goes up to the door of the room across him. Someone on the other side of the door starts playing the piano, albeit softly. Crowley stops for a moment. He'd recognize that softness anywhere, no matter how long it'd been since he last saw the person playing. He doesn't know what he's feeling, but he knows without a doubt who his new neighbor is. 

Aziraphale.

_He tries a few times, but manages to fill in the fitting tone to complete the piece. He plays the piece again, feeling pround of yet another day's work. That's when he heard the knock. It was distinct, three raps that weren't very loud, yet sharp and quick. It wouldn't disturb anyone if they were in the middle of tedious work, such as fixing antique manuscripts, but no one that would come here knew that he would do something like that. There was only one person who ever knocks on his door like that, and he hadn't seen that person in a long time. But he couldn't be here, he thought. He'd never return here after what hapened. Unless....._

_He gets up and opens the door. There he was, right before Aziraphale's eyes._

_Raphael._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! 
> 
> I'm a bit of a procrastinator, so it took a bit too long to churn this one out lol. 
> 
> :D


	4. A Moment That Will Last Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to write this completely in the present, but I just couldn't help myself! 
> 
> Still, this has been a rough week for me, so hope you enjoy :D

_No one ever used the practice rooms in the Eastern Wing past 6pm, as everyone tought it was haunted by those who went in there at night and never came back. Crowley was probably the only one who dared even get close there after classes ended. He needed to be alone, where no one would dare lie eyes upon him (not that people did willingly during the day anyway.). That was when he heard it for the first time._

The two musicians, one tall, suave and broken, the other short, secretitive and broken, looked at each other. The silence seemed to encapsulate the entire floor. 

_He heard someone playing the piano. It was a mournful song, but the piece sounded so soft and light, as if it were a star far away looking down on the small people going about their day. The song, even though it was muffled trough the thick walls, was beautiful, and a sound he could and would never forget._

"Raphael, it's been so long", says the short one before he holds the other in a tight embrace. Without a moment of hesitation, the other resturns the embrace, standing there for a long time as if time itself had stopped to allow for this to last forever. 

_Absentmindedly, he takes out his flute and starts playing along to the music. There he was, the class dunce, standing in an abondoned hallway, playing along to his heart's content, nobody watching him. One after another, the notes come out of Crowley's insturment, its owner finally feeling at peace. Suddenly the music he was playing along to stops, and Crowley snaps back to reality._

"Aziraphale, I never tought I'd see you again..." Crowley drifts off, not knowing what to say. Neither of the aknowledged it out loud, but this was a momentous thing, seeing each other like this again, being alone like this again.

_Before him stood a short, kind looking boy with the bluest eyes Crowley had ever seen behind horn rimmed glasses. The boy looked anxious, and was wringing his wrists._

_"Were you playing along to my song?"_

_"Yeah, sorry, I'll just go" Crowley turns around to leave, but a cold hand grabs him by the arm._

_"Could you actually stay, my dear? You were absolutely wonderful, and I think you're the only one who'se ever come here not hunting for ghosts. I'd rather enjoy company while I have it, to be honest"_

_Crowley followed the boy further down the hall._

Aziraphale slowly moves out of the embrace, and straightens his bowtie. "Should we maybe move in your stuff first? Then I we can finally enjoy the company that we have, while we have it."

_Crowley and the boy enter one of the rooms, but when he enters the room, Crowley realizes there is something different about this one. Sheets and sheets of manuscript paper was spread on the floor, many of them bearing either small notes in the margins or crossed out sections. In one corner of the room was a bookcase and a bed. Crowley realized that this was the boy's room, as well as where he practiced. The boy looks up from the table on the other side of the room, two cups in his hand._

_"What kind of tea do you prefer? I have Earl Grey, but Chamomile is also great to calm the nerves."_

_"Any kind would do, angel."_  
  
Crowley internally winced at the way he called the boy angel, but it was the first thing that came into his mind. He indeed looked and sounded like one. The boy blushes, and starts fussing with a dingy kettle on the table. 

_"My name's Aziraphale Fell, by the way. And this mess of a space is my room." Crowley's heart sunk at that comment, even the boy's name was angelic._

_"Anthony Raphael Crowley, but most call me Raphael"_

_"Well, it's great to have another fellow angel around the Eastern Gate."_

_"Did you just call the Haunted Wing the Eastern Gate?"_

_"This place isn't haunted by anyone except me, and I do admit that I call this place the Eastern Gate. Don't really know when I started calling it that, but the name just stuck."_

_"Well, it's nice meeting the angel haunting the eastern gate"_

_"Likewise for you. Would you like to stay and chat for a bit?"_

_Crowley did stay. He stayed for years._

For the first time in this endavour, Crowley smiles genuinely. 

"Of course, my angel"


	5. Banter Of The Highest Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley moves into his room and some drama *le gasp* ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a part of the next chapther, but I felt like it would do just fine as a single chapther instead. Going for humour and a bit of references here.

After a few hours of work, Crowley finally settled into his room. The empty bookshelf was now filled with books, some full of orchestral scores, others satirical comics. The wardrobe was filled with clothes, mostly dark coloured ones, with a few flashier ones in between. The room was littered with various insturments on stands, each with a considerable amount of maintenance equipment beside them. The room looked like that of a proper adult, save for a few things. Aziraphale was looking up at a Crowley haphazardly balancing himself on a chair as the latter was tacking something onto the wall. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be a Doctor Who poster. Somehow, the tattered, 10 year old poster managed to become one of Crowley's most prized possessions, altough Aziraphale never actually knew why. In the past, he was reluctant to pry on even the slightest thing, but after nearly a decade he knew he had to know. 

"Raphael, why have you kept that poster in such high regard all this time?" Aziraphale didn't catch it, but Crowley had winced for a microsecond upon hearing his first name, before getting down the chair. Crowley thrusts up the poster at Aziraphale, and shows him a piece of writing on the center of the poster.

  
"Haven't you noticed this writing for a bloody long time angel? David Tennant wrote that there."

"My dear, could you maybe clarify who that is?" Aziraphale was genuinely interested now. Crowley wasn't one to often talk about his interets which weren't music, but Aziraphale had always felt like he wanted to know as much as he could about Crowley. Crowley's grin widens, the rest of his face an experssion of mocking shock.

"Oh angel, how could you not know David? He was our classmate way back when." Aziraphale does a mock gasp.  
  
"Oh, however could I forget David?" His hand is now on his forhead, a dramatic show. The two stare at each other for a moment, before collapsing into giggles.

" He's the person who played the tenth doctor, angel! Hell, he's my favorite doctor! Haven't I ever talked to you about Doctor Who before?"

" I don't think you have my dear, but I'd love to hear all about it. Why don't we go over to my room and have some tea?"

"Sure.", Crowley says, starting to gather some bits and bobs around his room to help explain the entirety of Doctor Who to Aziraphale. The latter just watches him dart about like an excited bird. Both of them are still grinning, still caught up in the euphoria of being together again. Aziraphale starts walking out the room. 

"Any type of tea you prefer?"

"You know that I like anything you brew, angel."

"Then coffee it is!"

"Bastard. If you'll brew coffee then I'll brew myself some genmaicha."

"Do pour me a cup too, my dear."

"I tought you were going to brew some coffee, angel?"

"I never said I'd only drink one drink."

The two laugh, looking forwards to a night unlike they've ever had before.

_Love really does set one's heart aflutter, eh?_


	6. Mad Serpent's Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation goes pear shaped, with a divine revelation, all thanks to what may or not be a pot of marujana served as tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did they get so off track you may ask? Thank the tea that tasted strange. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy as always, and get ready for some melted hearts.

Aziraphale's room was very identical to the room that he had back in the Eastern Wing. It was bigger, but it still managed to be slightly overflowed with the many bookshelves against the walls, and multiple desks set up with materials required for book restorations. The room was somehow cramped, but it was quite cozy, just like its inhabitant. Aziraphale was perced like an owl on (the only) chair, and Crowley was sitting on the one comfortable place which wasn't covered in paper, books or other odd objects, which happened to be Aziraphale's bed. At first, Crowley did feel a bit embarassed, but as time went on, and the warm cup in his hand emptied, he minded it less.

They had been discussing various things for the past few hours now, spanning from Doctor Who to what would happen if the same person met each other, to the wonderful marvel that is streaming services. 

_(Aziraphale found the premise quite interesting. 'Time travel adventures and a doctor that becomes different people? Whatever would happen if two doctors, the same person, saw each other? We should definetly get to the bottom of this!' He declared after about half an hour. At that exclamation, Crowley immediately started planning a dream evening where the two would be in his room, staying up and watching Doctor Who. To hell with the fact that they were adults with jobs.)_

Right now, the two were quite giddy with exhaustion, and Crowley was babbling about fish.

"Y'know angel, how the younger people say that they're smart because they have a 'big brain', and completely ignore the superior intellect of fish?"

"For heavens' sake Crowley, where are you going with this?"

"Dolphins."

"Your point?"

"My point is Dolphins, Aziraphale. Big brain city, dolphins."

"My dear, whales would be the true 'Big Brain City'"

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about them."

"I wonder what would happen if you made a bouillabaisse out of whale"

"How the fuck are you even able to pronounce that word? Bouly, no bouli, no boili- ngk. I'm just going to call it fish stew."

"If you're going to be my neighbor then you need to learn some proper vocabulary, my dear."

"Sure I will angel. I'd do anything for you."

"I'd do anything for you as well, my lover."

At those last two lines, the two look at each other, blushes creeping on their faces as they realized what they had just said. A silence had swept the room. Crowley spoke up.

"I guess now isn't the best time to mention that the second pot of tea did taste a bit strange. Did someone try to spike this tea. Well how would I know-"  
"My dear, just wait for a second." Aziraphale cuts Crowley short and locks eyes with him, blue to yellow. "Do you mean what you just said?"

Crowley pauses. _shit shitz shot shitè! What was he going to do now? Admit feelings he had for the past decade upon seeing his crush for the first time in five years?_ Aziraphale keeps looking at Crowley, and breaks the rapid cuss train going on inside the latter's head.

"I meant what I said. I... don't know how to put this into words exactly. Um... for a long time... I've felt different around you." Aziraphale's face betrays his uncertainty, and he keeps fumbling with the words as he goes on.   
"I think..... I love you. This isn't how I tought I'd tell you if I ever did but I think I've been this way for a long time and..." Aziraphale kept going on, but there was only one tought which corssed Crowley's mind.

_Holy fuck._

That was the only tought that crossed Crowley's mind at that moment. The man he'd loved for a long time, the only one he felt truly safe around, also loved him. Aziraphale was still trying to fumble out an explanation, but stopped when Crowley got up. He sauntered around the piles of books on the floor, and bent down in front of Aziraphale. Crowley comes in closer, and pecks the softest kiss on his soft cheek. Aziraphale doesn't move. Crowley gets up and starts to leave the room, trying to make sense of what he just did, but before he went out the door, someone reaches for his hand. With a swift movement on Aziraphale's side, the tall musician finds himself at the embrace, and mercy, of the blond angel embracing him. The angel leans in for a kiss, and time stops yet again. They kiss, their broken hearts finally starting to come back together again. Aziraphale quickly exits the embrace, ducking into the back of his room. A song starts playing from the depths of the bookshelves, and Aziraphale beckons Crowley. 

"Care to share a dance with me, my love?"

"Of course."

The two start to slowly dance, doging the books which were laid out like traps.

" _Wise men say,_

_Only fools fall in love,_

_But I can't help,_

_Falling in love with you."_

The rest of the night melds into day, and Aziraphale wakes up in Crowley's room, Crowley wrapped around him like a snake. He never felt so complete like this before.


	7. Danny And The Missing Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what happened to Crowley's tea, and the "tea" our ineffable husbands drank last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I had a pretty rough month with some dizzy spells and stuff. Until I get my mojo back up again, enjoy this "filler" chapther. :D
> 
> I tried writing a bit more of accent/dialect into speech. Let's see how it goes.

Danny had spent what he thought was the entire night, going from door to door, trying to find his weed stash. He and his mates had snuck it into school with a box, thinking it would be cool to try it on their first day of freedom. Altough, when it had come to actually going trough with it, they found that the box which they assumed to contain their weed was swapped, the box in their possession filled to the brim with packs of various sizes and colours, all of them having labels written in a foreign script. Some of the others tought they'd really gotten lucky, (falsely) believing that the packs were other drugs, but Danny knew he had to find his weed before a professor did. He had went to almost every room which responded on all floors except the attic before giving up and going to sleep.

He took the mysterious box with him and tried to sleep, but many questions had started to plauge him. _What are in these packs? Who owns this box? Do they know about his weed? Would he get in trouble?_ He spent the entire night thinking, eventually managing to sleep somewhere along the way. 

Around the crack of dawn, Danny woke up with a start. The first day jitters were already kicking in, and he was definetly not ready for school after losing possibly illegal drugs in a large building chock full of young rebellious people like him up to the attic. And at that moment, it hit him. _The attic._

Bounding up the stairs faster than he ever thought he could, Danny found himself in the narrow hallway of the attic. From what he could tell, there didn't seem to be anyone in the room on the left, the door left askew. Danny goes up to the door to confirm his suspicions, and his heart sinks. The room was empty, but the sign on the door, with _Dr. A. Fell, please do not disturb_ primly written on it, foretold Danny's fate. Out of anyone who could have gotten his weed, it was the person who could get him kicked out of school who got it. Just as Danny was going trough a fight-flight response, the other door opens.

_After the whole ordeal of confessing their longstanding love to each other and dancing to Elvis Presley playing on Aziraphale's (possibly) outdated gramophone, Crowley had gone to pour them another cup of tea from the Aziraphale's pot when the secnt of the tea hit him. The scent was the classic smell of weed. He had given his angel weed instead of tea. He hadn't even done weed in his life.  
_

_(except that one time in 2001, but he had done many regrettable things that night. Including chasing a duck into the river Thames, loudly proclaiming that flowers needed to "grow bettah or face teh wrath of the Gayest snake from hell" in public, and perfectly reciting all of the Star Wars movie opening monolouges in Scottish from memory.)_

_Just as he was deliberating on how to tell Aziraphale that his special tea box got mixed up with someone's weed, Aziraphale comes up to Crowley and sniffs the air. His face wears an expression of shock._

_"Crowley, is that marujana you're putting into my tea pot?"_

_"No I'm not- wait, how do you know what weed smells like?"_

_"I've been to Amsterdam, my dear."_

_"Oh, right."  
_

_"Anyways, what is weed doing in that teapot? We could get high if we drank that much, and that would definetly ruin the aftertaste of that lovely tea you brought over."_

_"About that...."_

_"Crowley, did you bring marujana instead of tea to get my high and confess my love to you?"_

_"No I didn't! I didn't know it was weed 'till I gave it a close sniff right about now! My tea box must've gotten mixed up with someone's weed stash as I was moving my stuff upstairs!"_

_"Right."_

_"Don't look at me like that, Angel. I've been rebellious an' all that, but I aven't done this stuff in ages. Not since last time."_

_"Last time?"_

_"Oh, you don' wanna hear."_

_"But now that you've mentioned my dear, you must elaborate"_

_*sighs* "Fiiine. But only 'cause you're my Angel"_

_"My lips are sealed"_

_"Came down to London for a school trip an' some of my mates managed to get some off the street. We had a free evenin', I wasn't allowed to stay in and practice, so I tought 'eh, what the hell?'."_

_"And you did marujana on a school trip."_

_"A lot of it. If it helps they didn' let me see it at first 'cause they tought I was gonna snitch on them"_

_"It does help a bit Crowley. I didn't really think you were that outright rebellious of a serpent anyway."_

_"Well, serpents may not be the boldest, but they are the best tempters."_

_"I can definetly testify to that."_

_"May I tempt you to a proper pot of tea, angel?"  
_

_"Temptation accomplished."_

_Just as Crowley was about to boil another kettle, Aziraphale stopps him._

_"What about the real owner of this marujana?"_

_"Leave 'em to me Angel. I've got somethin' planned for 'em"_

Before Danny stood a tall, intimidatung looking man with round glasses on. Danny couldn't see the man's face clearly due to the darkness of the hall, but he could tell he was angry. Danny knew his fate was sealed. He considered lying, and saying he was looking for a friend when he ended up here, but then the man opened his mouth.

  
"Are you the one who got the weed?"

  
"....Yes"

"I tought it would be one of the older ones. How old're you?"

"19 sir"

"Please don't call me sir, at least not this early in the mornin'"

"Okay" Danny was getting more uncertain by the minute, as the man was really dragging out this conversation, probably to make his explusion more painful.The man starts speaking again.

"Sorry 'bout what happened to your weed."

"What do you mean?"

"Um.... It's a tad embarrasing, but I might've drank most of it as tea with my friend."

"You drank weed as tea?"  
  
"Well... we weren't aware it was weed, we just tought it was some exotic tea that was part of my collection"

"So all those handwritten lables are just tea?"

"Yep. I find and get tea from all 'round the world. Britain's best tea fanatic I am, or so I had said myself."

"That's quite cool. Me and my friends tought it was some kind fo hard drug or something."

"Well, tea is quite a drug when you go down the rabbit hole, kid. Don't go into it unless you're really ready."

"I'll make sure of that"

"Good. Now I assume you have the box?"

  
"Yes I do, right here. I guess mine will be confiscated?"

  
"Normally, yes. And you'd be in a lotta trouble, but you happened to get caught by my this time."

"So I'll get it back?"

"Yep. We're just going to keep this under wraps for now."

"Thank you so much!"

"It's only first offense, so you don't need to thank me. If you get into anything more serious though, don't rely on me bailing you out"

"For sure"

The man quickly back into the room he came from and produced Danny's box, altough with less weed in it. Danny gives the man his box and quickly heads down the stairs.

  
That was a hell of a ride, but at least he knows that Dr. Fell was quite cool.


	8. Newsflash: Two Gay Disasters Find Out Windows Are A Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deus ex machina of the humorous kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from the dead for one night and one night only. Enjoy.

The first morning of term in St. James' has always been said to be extremely noisy yet perfectly orderly. Clearly, people who have said that have never ever met Mr Anthony Crowley. Why have they never met him, you ask? Let's look into his classroom 10 minutes before his first class of the year, a school orchestra audition and meet greet class.

All the windows were open, the breeze coming in blowing all the papers Crowley had so meticulously organized aflutter. Various band posters were loosely glue-tacked onto the walls, some of them already falling apart and going loopy. The chairs were also a mess, all of them crammed to one side of the room, while the other side was completely chair-free. And in the middle of it all was Crowley, trying to catch the paper, re-tack the posters, all in the middle of moving the chairs to a sittable arrangement. Not once did the idea of closing the windows come to mind. 

_ In short, Crowley is a gay disaster, and has 10 minutes to think of closing the windows before trying to fix everything. _

Things were also not going that well in the classroom across the hallway, with a similarly chaotic situation going on in the room reserved for choir-based activities.Vene though the room, at first glance, looked perfectly tidy, you would understand what the problem was when you looked at one of the open windows in classroom. There was a foot, wearing a polished brogue shoe held inside the classroom by its shoelaces trapped underneath a heavy box. . It is physically unknown how it is so tightly stuck there. But the point was that there was a very distressed man in that shoe, and he was now somehow dangling from the second floor window. Aziaphale was staring at the bushes underneath him, and was understandably distressed. 

_ In short, someone needed to find Aziraphale and pull him up before class started, or he had to somehow unlodge his shoe and go fall into the bushes.  _

One might wonder, how  _ exactly _ this incident occurred: and we can simply relate it to the fact that Aziraphale was a bit of a lovestruck twink. He was playing to open the windows to let some airflow before his first lecture, and when thinking about Crowley, failed to notice his shoelaces were untied, and put down his book full of choral sheet music onto said shoelaces. He took a breather after dropping the box, and moved towards the window when the shoelaces made him trip and go straight through the window. 

After about five minutes, Crowley (very dramatically) put his hands up in the air, admitting defeat. He was just about to leave to get new copies of his syllabus when he turned around, and  _ the realisation that the windows were fully open hit him like a speeding eighteen-wheeler.  _

Adam was excited for his first day, but his first lecture seemed kinda boring: “Historical methods used in Choral compositions and musical storytelling”. Sure, the storytelling part seemed exciting, he loved telling stories to scare his cousins, but the history part seemed quite dull. At least it sounded better than “Experimental sound design in EDM”, which he knew would end in people using bass boost until someone was rushed to the hospital with burst eardrums. 

He was walking down the hallway when he heard a yelp, followed by a loud thump. Just as he was going towards the origin of the noise, someone bumps into him and runs towards the noise. It was Pepper. 

“Oi Pepper! Wait up for me!”   


Now, inside the classroom awaited a surprise for both Adam and Pepper. The twiggy professor they had met yesterday was, for lack of a better word,  _ crushed _ underneath a chubby man with blond curly hair who was very distressed. They hadn’t caught it, but there was a very small smile on Crowley’s lips. At the sight of the students, the distressed man quickly attempts to get up, but falls over his shoelaces once again. Crowley glares at the box and says “Angel, the box.”. Aziraphale stares at him. “Whatever do you mean?”. The two lovestruck disasters start staring at each other. 

_ Oh I’ve missed looking at his copper hair so much! And even though its shorter than it used to be, it looks so gorgeous. I wish I could see his amber eyes right now, they’re probably like the sun right now _

**_Fuck, this angel is the most beautiful thing that I’ve seen in my life. I can’t believe I managed to go for so long without looking into those blue pools of love. And his lips, of those lips slightly pursed from confusion. If I could get up I’d immediately kiss those lips!_ **

While those two were having their internal monologues, Pepper decided to move the box, finally freeing Aziraphale’s foot.  Adam and Pepper looked at each other and then at the two professors, who were still stuck in their yearning. 

“Pepper, do you think we should wake them up?”

“They’re clearly awake Adam. What if they had a concussion?”

“Should we try to make Professor Crowley get up?”

“Maybe we should leave him there, call the paramedics first. Getting partially crushed is probably not a good thing” 

Suddenly, and probably mercifully, the bell signaling the end of breakfast and the start of the first lecture rung. Our two dummies snap out of it, and Crowley bolts out of the room like a snake caught naked by a paparazzi. Aziraphale also snaps out of it, and quickly goes and shuts the windows. Adam and Pepper don’t get a chance to question him due to the flood of other first-years entering the room. As they take their seats, Adam whispers to Pepper. 

“Bet you a quid his name is Professor Fell”


End file.
